


Wedding Dance

by seeminglyincurablesentimentality (myinnerchildisbored)



Series: Rose Shelby vs. All the Bastards [15]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 10:16:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19423936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myinnerchildisbored/pseuds/seeminglyincurablesentimentality
Summary: It's Tommy and Grace's wedding day and Rose, for the most part, is on her best behaviour.





	Wedding Dance

Rose sat on her windowsill, watching the madness out the front. There were her uncles and aunties and cousins, all of them dressed to the nines; the adults smoking and passing flasks around, the kids getting shouted at for getting too close to the puddles and the horses and the cars. Everyone had to remain pristine, at least until the pictures had been taken after the service.

The family honour was at stake, apparently.

Grace’s lot had come down from Ireland and it was imperative to give them nothing to find fault with. Her father had told her so the night before, when he’d bothered to come into her room to say good night.

“What’s imperative?” she asked.

“It means it’s the most important thing.” Tommy had circles under his eyes and smelled of smoke.

“Because we want to impress them?”

“No,” he said. “We don’t give a fuck what these people think, d’you hear me?”

“Why then?”

“Because we won’t give them the satisfaction of being right about us.”

“Right about what about us?” Rose propped herself up on her elbows and looked at her father intently.

“It doesn’t matter, Rosie,” he said. “They’ve ideas, that’s all. And we’ll all be on our very best fuckin’ behaviour, just to show them the sun doesn’t rise and set with their pompous arses alone.”

Rose raised an eyebrow.

“What?” her father asked tiredly.

“We’ve to be on our best behaviour… to piss them off?”

“Yea.”

“ ‘cause they’re uppity fuckers?”

Tommy’d been in a horrible mood for weeks, awful – Rose was ready to send him back to America for a second early honeymoon just to be rid of his silent, brooding presence – but he cracked half a grin at this.

“Spot on,” he said. “But-“ he reached over and half-patted-half-whacked her on the head “- come tomorrow, you’ll choose your words wisely or I’ll feed you a bar of soap before I stripe your legs for you. Right?”

“We’ve to act all posh tomorrow?” Rose asked.

“Call it what you like, but there’ll be no fucking swearing,” her father confirmed. “So you best get it out of your system now.”

This sounded an awful lot like an invitation.

“Go on.” Tommy nodded at her as he dug in his pockets for the cigarettes.

“Do it now?” she asked. “So the rat bastards don’t take fuckin’ offence?”

The corners of her father’s mouth curled upwards alongside the smoke.

“Good shite,” Rose sighed. “That’s fucking rotten luck, isn’t it fuckin’ just, that we of all bloody people have to marry in with the sort of numpty cunts who’re bothered by a bit of fuckin’ swearing. Bloody hell.”

“You’re a disgrace…” Tommy was shaking his head, his smirk still in place. “And it’s not just that, orright, there’ll be no picking their pockets, no spit in their drinks, no-“

“Oh, fuckin’ Christ…” Rose brought a hand up to her mouth in horror “…what’ll we do ‘bout uncle Arthur and uncle John?”

“Your auntie Linda’s doing our work for us with the one,” her father said with noticeable distaste, “and I’ve told the other I’ll break his knees if he doesn’t behave.”

“With what?”

Tommy made an odd face, halfway between amusement and concern.

“I’ve not-“ he broke off and shook his head “- there’ll be something on hand I’m sure.”

“Like a sledge hammer?”

“Yea, Rose, like a sledge hammer.” Tommy rolled his eyes. “Now, you’re done? It’s all out?”

“Fucking bugger-shit-fuck-arseholes…yea, all done,” Rose said sweetly.

“Good girl,” her father said. “Now tomorrow-“

“Honeyed fuckin’ lips,” Rose interrupted.

“Too right,” he said, his face completely serious again. “Smile for me.”

Rose smiled.

“That’s lovely.” Tommy looked at her for a long while. “I don’t want to see anything else tomorrow. Understand?”

Rose’s smile soured around the edges but she kept it in place, more of less. Her father seemed satisfied enough.

“I’ll consider it me wedding present, eh?”

“Yea,” Rose sighed. “Orright.”

#

She wasn’t smiling now, sitting in her room, watching them down there, not yet. It seemed a tall order to smile for a whole day when there was precious little going on to feel happy about; so, Rose figured, she’d stay up here until it was time to go. Pacing herself, in a manner of speaking.

They’d not seen hide nor hair of Grace’s lot yet; apparently they’d declined offers of staying at the big house and would be meeting them at the church. A car had taken Grace over to their lodgings in the morning, so she could get ready with...someone. Rose didn’t know if there were many Burgess women, there were bound to be some. It seemed impossibly rude, at any rate, to avoid the groom’s family to be so comprehensively.

Rose folded up the skirt of her dress, took the silky white fabric of the pointless skirt underneath it in both hands and ripped. Again and again and again…until the whole stupid thing hung in ribbons. No one would be able to see, it would be hidden under the dress, but she herself would know and that was good enough.

There was a knock and Rose barely had time to hop off the windowsill and straighten her dress before her uncle Finn opened the door.

He took one look at her and burst out laughing. Rose watched him with her most unimpressed face until he’d pulled himself together.

“Ah, Ro, I’m sorry,” he said. “You look very nice, you really do…it just took me by surprise.”

“I look thick,” Rose said. “It’s orright. I know I do.”

Finn grinned.

“You don’t,” he said.

“It’s to match hers,” Rose said darkly. “I’d to go with her to the dressmakers. It was fu-… unpleasant.”

“ _Funpleasant_?”

“I’ve orders to talk like a lady.”

Finn rolled his eyes.

“That’s rich,” he said. “Will I have word with him?”

It wasn’t a real offer, there was nothing Finn could say that would alter the situation in any way – he knew and Rose knew – but she still could have hugged him.

“You’re orright,” she said.

“Fair enough.” Finn rubbed his hands together. “Now, come on. We’re off to do the business before we can have ourselves a party.”

“Some party…” Rose grumbled.

“There’s enough drink being carried into the place to wipe out half of Birmingham,” Finn said gleefully. “It’ll be gas, you’ll see…Christ, you’ve a matching coat as well?”

“Shut up.” Rose slipped into the offending item of clothing. “I talked her out of a hat at least.”

“Small mercies, eh?”

“Haha…”

Finn held out his arm and Rose hooked her’s through.

“Smile, Finny,” she said morosely. “Best behaviour – or else.”

Finn, who’d been about to stride out into the corridor, stopped mid-step.

“What?” Rose asked.

Her uncle let go off her arm and went over to her desk.

“D’you mind if I leave somethin’ in here for a bit?” He was already pulling the drawer open and digging in his pockets.

“What something?” Rose asked.

“None of your-“

“You’re hiding it in my room,” she interrupted, already beside him and craning her head to see. “That makes it my business, very much so.”

“Back off, Ro,” Finn groaned.

He slammed the drawer shut but Rose still got a glimpse of the small brown vials rolling towards the back.

“What’s in the-“ she broke off and stared up at her uncle. “Is that the Tokyo?”

Finn gaped at her, somewhat surprised.

“No, it isn’t,” he said after a moment; too long a moment.

“Yea, it is.”

She didn't really know what it was, but she knew it wasn't supposed to be in the house, not today...not any day.

“Well, even if it is, it’s staying in there until much later and you keep your fingers off it. Off. It. D’you hear me?”

“But-“

“I’ll personally chop you up into such tiny pieces they won’t find even an ear of you,” her uncle interrupted. “You leave it where it is. Right?”

“But-“

Outside horns started honking and a cheer went up.

“They’re goin’, come on.” Finn took Rose’s shoulders in his hands and steered her towards the door. “Let’s get your old man a new ball and chain, eh?”

“Marvelous.” Rose rolled her eyes. “Smashing.”

#

The Burgess people were made from wax, by the looks of it, perfectly still in all ways. Not even their hair was moving, not even the whiskers of the men’s moustaches. You couldn’t tell them apart either, because they’d come in uniforms. Bright red ones with bits on the shoulders; they looked great, like lion tamers.

Rose was squashed in between their John’s Katie and her auntie Linda, staring over at Grace’s lot with rapt fascination.

They were the kind of people who’d sooner die than scratch themselves with anyone looking on, even they’re own family. The kind of people who’d learned to breathe without their chests moving.

When Mister Jesus came out, looking like the pope himself, all the Burgesses jerked backwards imperceptibly; you really wanted to be looking to catch them. It looked so funny, it made Rose’s smile feel real for a bit, until the music started and one of the lion tamers brought Grace down towards the altar.

She looked beautiful. Blue, Rose had to allow, did very good things to Grace. It made her look like she’d been flying across a rare cloudless summer sky, like she’d been washed up after playing with the mermaids in a faraway ocean; yet the very same shade of blue left Rose looking like a corpse they’d pulled from the cut in the middle of January.

It only went to show that beautiful things were never beautiful for everyone. You’d to work out who’s good was most important in any given situation.

Everyone had to have a turn, it was only fair.

Everyone around her stood up, so Rose got to her feet as well, smiling to the point of pulling a muscle.

Today was her father’s turn; hopefully he’d remember and give her a turn sometime soon.

#

The big house was pumping.

There was a band in the huge room, playing something soft and almost unnoticeable… mingling music.

There were enormous bowls of ice studded with champagne bottles, pyramids of glassware, trays of cigars and cigarettes. Tables were being set in the dining rooms – both big and small – by people who didn’t normally work in the big house. It would’ve been great to go down and have a look in the kitchen, it’d be going off down there, but Rose knew she’d do herself no favours absconding this early in the piece.

She watched her father weave through the rooms, rallying the troupes – her uncles and Johnny Dogs and some of the lads -, then watched them disappear one by one into the downstairs labyrinth.

A flock of cousins raced by.

“Where yous going?” Rose called out.

“Stable,” John-The-Second, shouted over his shoulder.

Rose took two quick steps after him and grabbed him by his spotless jacket.

“No, you don’t,” she said.

John-The-Second stopped, which in turn stopped everyone else because he was the oldest.

“Why?”

He shook her off and glared at her. He was older than her, John-The-Second, by more than a whole year; she’d no authority to stop him doing anything. Then again, it was her house and her father’s wedding, so perhaps she did, just a little.

“ ‘cause these’ll get trampled,” Rose said, nodding towards Katie and Matty and Gordy and Karl. “The boxes are full up and the beasts don’t know each other, they’ll be jumpy.”

“Our mum said it’s orright,” John-The-Second announced.

“Esme’s not your mum.” Rose rolled her eyes. “She’s just your dad’s wife.”

“Same difference.” John-The-Second rolled his eyes back at her. “Come on, yous.”

“There’s chocolates through that door over there,” Rose told the smaller cousins. “A whole table full. For the taking.”

They took off like seagulls. John-The-Second gave Rose an angry glare.

“We’ll go later,” she said sweetly. “Without the littluns, that’ll be better anyway. We’ll wait til everyone’s into the drink, orright?”

“Are there really chocolates?” her cousin asked.

“Yea.”

“Orright then.” John-The-Second made to leave but stopped himself and turned to face Rose once more. “She _is_ your mum now, you know. That’s how it works.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You’ve no idea, Rosie.”

Any other day she’d have tried to beat a retraction out of him; instead Rose martialed all the resolve she had, smiled and walked away, her ripped petticoat stroking her legs soothingly.

#

The Burgesses hadn’t brought a lot of children, three of them only. One was nearly not a child anymore, she was standing around with the grown-ups, ogling Grace as though she was made of pure gold; another was a small boy, as small as Bonnie Prince Charlie, and he was off in the nursery with Frances.

“Rose, this is my niece, Elisabeth.”

Grace trapped her at the bottleneck between dining rooms and presented her with the last of the Burgess’ young ones.

“Hello,” Elisabeth said with an enviably sweet smile.

“Hello,” Rose parroted, glancing up at Grace uncertainly.

“You’ll look after her, won’t you?” Grace said in that tone she reserved for children and the mentally unsound. “Keep her from getting too bored?”

“Yea,” Rose said, breathing through the impulse to scowl. “Of course, I will.”

“You’ll be fast friends in no time,” Grace chirruped and disappeared towards the stairs.

They watched her go and, when the last of Grace’s dress had rounded the corner of the staircase, turned to size each other up.

“How old are you?” Elisabeth asked.

“Nine.”

“Huh.” Somehow this seemed to be a disappointment. “I’m eleven.”

Rose nodded. She couldn’t open her mouth, none of the things she wanted to say were worth the trouble they’d come with. Elisabeth was eyeing her curiously; not in a let’s-be-friends way at all, more of a look-at-this-strange-misshapen-bug-I-found way. She was taller than Rose; not by much, but she still had the luxury of looking down a tiny-yet-sharp nose at her.

“Is it true you’re all gypsies?” she asked.

Shite. Rose had not been briefed as to whether or not Grace’s lot was in the know and if they approved if they were. That said, she could only assume from Elisabeth’s tone that this had been discussed by the Burgess adults in a decidedly disapproving fashion. Maybe it was one of the ideas they had that had to be proven wrong…even if it was right. Then again, it wouldn’t do having her report back to her elders that the Shelbys were not only gypsies but also lying about it because they were ashamed, which might prove another _incorrect_ idea as right.

Elisabeth was slowly raising her eyebrows higher and higher, Rose was taking to long with her answer, she was probably just on the verge of looking completely thick.

“Is it true youse are all Irish?” Rose smiled up at Elisabeth pleasantly.

“What?”

She’d managed to confuse her, the snooty little cow. Rose smiled sweeter still.

“It’s orright,” she said reassuringly. “We don’t mind, honest.”

Elisabeth looked satisfyingly irritated.

“Come on,” Rose said, motioning for her to follow. “I show you where they’ll feed us.”

She turned and walked off towards the informal dining room, confident that Elisabeth would follow, simply because she’d no other option. Rose hadn’t done anything, she hadn’t been rude, she’d been nothing but accommodating; she’d been so smooth it took all her self-control to keep from giggling like a mad thing.

#

They’d set up a children’s table; far, far away from where the adults would be eating.

Rose couldn’t actually say the words _children’s table_ out loud, it was too embarrassing. It was the kind of thing…she didn’t even know if there was another thing in the world this shameful.

It wasn’t as if her family was in the habit of all of them eating together – not anymore, at any rate, not in a long time – but the rare occasions of all of them sharing food together had been riotous, noisy, hilarious meals. There’d never been enough room for everyone, someone always ended up sharing chairs or eating standing up or sitting on someone else, and everyone was shouting and scarfing and spearing things off other people’s plates when they weren’t looking.

The very idea of a children’s table was an insult.

Rose wasn’t alone with this opinion. When she led Elisabeth into the small dining room, her cousins were in various states of revolt. John-The-Second was facing off with Frances, who’d come down after putting Charlie-bastard and the small Burgess down for naps presumably, scowling as though he was going for the world record. A couple of the smaller ones were actually in tears at the injustice of being exiled not just to a different table but to a separate room from everyone else.

“You’d think you weren’t getting anything to eat at all,” Frances said with a good deal of exasperation.

Rose took a water glass off the table, snatched up a spoon and climbed onto the nearest chair.

“Why d’we have to-“ John-The-Second started, his voice cracking with wounded pride.

The clinking of spoon on glass cut him off and within two seconds, Rose had the attention of every offended child in the room, and Francis’ as well.

“This is a new thing,” she said loudly and clearly, wishing she’d thought past whacking the spoon on the glass, “but it’ll be orright. This is better, eh? They’ll be talking about all sorts of boring sh- _things_ over in there-“

“Like what?” Matty asked.

“Uhm…politics,” Rose ventured. “And the price of a pint these days. We’d die of boredom before they’ve brought the soup.”

“And how’s this better?” John-The-Second challenged.

“ ‘cause we’ll be in here, all on our own, having a grand old time. Won’t we, Elisabeth?” Rose turned and grinned at Grace’s niece encouragingly.

“I-“ she said, utterly taken by surprise.

“That’s right,” Rose interrupted. “So, we’ll sit down now, don’t worry, Frances. Orright?”

Frances stared at Rose as though she’d walked in wearing a cow’s head for a mask.

“Fair enough,” John-The-Second grumbled. “But the grub better be top-notch.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Rose said haughtily. “They’ve been cooking for days. You’ve not had better, Johnny, I guarantee.”

She stepped down, pulled out her chair and sat down, waiting for the others to follow suit.

When you wanted someone to do something, you had to act like it was the only thing they could possibly do. Like there were no other reasonable options, even if you knew perfectly well that they could do a million other things if they so chose. Rose had watched her father and her aunt Pol do this many times, but this was the first time she’d attempted it herself.

One by one, her cousins sat down. Cautiously, as though they were lowering themselves onto live bombs.

Elisabeth appeared beside Rose, just as she thought she might die of smugness, and cleared her throat.

“Yes?” Rose looked up, almost expecting congratulations of quenching the great cousin rebellion.

“Can’t you people read?” Elisabeth asked.

“Oi-“ John-The-Second started.

“Well, Karl can’t,” Rose interrupted. “He’s only three, don’t make him feel bad.”

“You’re in my seat,” Elisabeth said, utterly unamused.

She reached over, picked up a small paper tent from Rose’s plate and waved it in front of her face in the most irritating fashion. Rose snatched it off her and groaned inwardly. Place cards were for ponces, it was a fact. Houses containing place cards deserved to be burned down, just on principle.

Smiling – still valiantly smiling – Rose got up, walked around the table to an empty seat and gently put the card with Elisabeth name on the plate in front of it.

“There you go,” she said. “This is better anyway. Now we can see each other properly, eh?”

Elisabeth shook her head, pitying Rose with every fibre of her being, apparently.

“This must be very different from eating rats around a fire,” she said.

“Hedgehogs,” Rose said, twisting a fistful of her destroyed undergarment round and round under the table. “And maybe a dormouse…if we’re lucky.”

#

She was goading her, this Elisabeth character. She was trying it on every chance she got.

“Are you scared someone will steal your food?”

Rose stopped scarfing, forcing a half-chewed chunk of potato down.

“The sooner it’s gone, the sooner there’ll be cake,” she smiled.

Not much later, when there was only a small pile of bones and peel left on Rose’s plate, Elisabeth offered her a cloth napkin.

“You want to save them for later, don’t you?” she said sweetly. “Go on. You can have mine as well.”

“That’s nice,” Rose managed, her face aching with effort. “I s’pose you don’t need it…”

She glanced at Elisabeth soft, round arms; briefly, mind you, ever so briefly, almost not at all. Just enough for her to know. Elisabeth eyes narrowed but Rose pretended not to notice and started slowly and deliberately wrapping up her chicken bones.

“Of course, now that you’re living in a real house, eating real food, you probably won’t need it either,” Elisabeth ventured. “Old habits die hard.”

“Oh, this?” Rose help up the napkin bundle and shook her head. “That’s not for eating.”

“Is it not?” Elisabeth smiled indulgently. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, you know. I’d be the same if I’d grown up…like that.”

The cousins were watching them in morbid fascination now.

“Honest,” Rose said, “they’re not for eating. Can I have yours like you said? Please?”

Elisabeth nodded slowly and Rose leaned over the table and gently picked up her chicken bones.

“Do you want them for toys?” Elisabeth asked. “Do you have a collection?”

“Ah, no…” Rose waved her off. “Nothing like that.”

“Will you bring them as a gift to your old neighbours?”

John-The-Second was eyeballing Rose across the table, his face hopping all over the place, ordering her silently to get up and plunge her fork into Elisabeth’s face before he did. Rose gave him a minute shake of the head.

“Shall I guess again?” Elisabeth asked.

“D’you really, really, really want to know?” Rose asked.

“Oh, yes.”

“Orright,” Rose sighed. “They’re for the dukkering.”

She aimed a kick under the table and got John-The-Second square in the shin.

“Oi!” he snapped, staring at her furiously.

Rose clapped her hand over her mouth.

“Sorry…I forgot…”

He cocked his head, confused, but a moment later a grin threatened as he caught on.

“What is that?” Elisabeth asked.

“It’s-“

“Rosie,” John-The-Second interrupted sternly, “we’re not to talk about it.”

“About what?” Elisabeth was looking back and forth between them now, her interest well and truly peaked.

“Nothin’,” Rose said quickly. “Never mind.”

A set of black-and-whites descended, taking away the remnants of the main and promising to bring something sweet and exciting next. Rose started playing paper-scissors-rock with Gordy next to her, feeling Elisabeth’s stare on the side of her face the entire time.

#

When they were done eating, Frances coaxed the smaller cousins upstairs, keen to keep them out of the way. Rose, Elisabeth and John-the-Second were allowed to down, for the time being, and John-the-Second disappeared within seconds; no doubt looking for Finn and Izzy Jesus and their lot to see what he’d missed.

“What is it called again?” Elisabeth asked. “The thing you’re not meant to talk about?”

They were drifting from the small dining room towards the entrance hall.

“Nothin’.” Rose avoided looking at her. “D’you want to see if they’ve started dancing yet?”

“Surely they’re still eating.” Elisabeth was right beside her now. “Go on, you can tell me.”

Rose climbed halfway up the staircase and settled down on her favourite step, the one that gave a view of the downstairs as well as the upstairs. Elisabeth stood in front of her, a couple of steps down, her face right in front of Rose’s.

“Ah…dukkering,” Rose said quietly. “It’s called dukkering, but-“

“What is that?” Elisabeth gathered her skirts and sat down next to Rose.

“Oh, uhm..” Rose looked around and sidled up a little closer, until their sleeves were practically touching. “Telling fortunes.”

Elisabeth’s eyebrows went up quite a bit.

“You can’t do that,” she said.

“I can,” Rose said. “All gypsies can. It’s in the blood.”

“You don’t tell fortunes with chicken bones.” Rose rolled her eyes.

“I s’pose you think it’s only the old ladies with crystal balls, do you?” she asked drily. “There’s loads of ways to tell a person’s fortune, you know. You can do it with tea leaves even, if you know what to look for.”

“Chicken bones, though…” Elisabeth wasn’t quite convinced yet. “What could you possibly tell from chicken bones?”

“Well, not everythin’…but a bit,” Rose said vaguely. “Depends on what a person wants to know.”

“What do people want to know, usually?”

“Ah, you know…”

“I don’t know,” Elisabeth snapped. “I wouldn’t be asking a little kid like you if I did.”

“Just…things,” Rose said, ignoring the insult. “Who they’re goin’ to marry, how many children they’ll have, will they have money, how they’re goin’ to die…”

“You can’t tell how I’m going to die from looking at some chicken bones.”

Rose shrugged.

“Yea, nah, you’re right, of course.”

They sat silently, watching the maids and waiters move across the entrance hall, clearing plates away and bringing fresh bottles wrapped up like babies. Rose could hear her uncle John laughing in the big dining room, quite loudly and quite alone…it made her think of the crunch of hammer on bone.

“Fine,” Elisabeth sighed suddenly.

“What’s fine?”

“Go on,” she said. “You can do it.”

“Do what?”

“Read my fortune, of course.” Elisabeth smirked.

“No.”

“No?” She couldn’t believe it.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not allowed,” Rose said.

“Liar,” Elisabeth said. “You can’t do it, that’s all.”

“I can.”

“You can’t.”

“I _can_.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yea, really.”

“Prove it, so.”

“But-“

“I’ll not believe you, til you show me.”

Rose was wringing her hands now, every inch the type of numpty wishing to impress a more worldly creature like fancy Elisabeth in her expensive dress.

“You’ve to swear to me that you won’t tell,” she said finally. “I’ll do it, but you can’t tell on me.”

“I won’t.” Elisabeth rolled her eyes.

“Swear,” Rose insisted. “You swear on your mother’s life.”

“I swear,” Elisabeth said.

“On…” Rose prompted.

“On my mother’s life.” Elisabeth looked a little uneasy.

“Orright.”

“So?”

Rose shook her head.

“We can’t do it here,” she said. “Someone’ll see. Come on-“

#

Elisabeth was wandering around Rose’s room, surveying it like she was interested in buying the place. She picked up a corner of her blanket even and rubbed it between two fingers, as though she was testing the quality of the linen, but Rose was fairly certain she was checking for the presence of a doll or some other offending item.

There was no danger. Rose had only ever owned one doll and she’d swapped it for a wooden sword with Jackie Robertson, Watery Lane’s resident nancy boy, before it’d even lived with her for a fortnight. She still had the sword, but it was stashed deep inside her wardrobe.

She’d spread a clean pillowcase on the ground behind her bed, so they’d be hidden from view should someone open the door unexpectedly, placed a lit candle in the middle and was now picking out the least dirty chicken bones from the napkin.

“Why haven’t you got any pictures up?” Elisabeth asked.

“What for?” Rose asked distractedly.

“Because it’s what civilised people do. They decorate.”

Rose bit down on her tongue so hard it hurt in order to keep from laughing.

“Come here,” she said. “Sit down.”

Elisabeth folded herself into the narrow space between bed and wall and looked at Rose expectantly.

“Orright.” Rose cupped her hands around a selection of bones. “What d’you want to know?”

“When will I find my one true love?” Elisabeth asked without a second’s delay.

Rose did not roll her eyes.

She didn’t slap Elisabeth for being a thick cow, if ever there was one, either.

She didn’t even snort a giggle.

She simply shook her cupped hands, working up a dramatic rattle and spilled the chicken bones onto the pillow case between them. Once the bones had fallen, Rose leaned over them, examining them closely. She picked up the candle and tilted it, frowning at the shadows the bones cast on the white backdrop.

“Well?”

“Don’t rush me,” Rose said. “I don’t want to tell you anything untrue.”

To her surprise, Elisabeth did shut up and watched her. Rose drew it out, just to see if Elisabeth would dare to interrupt again. She hummed and mumbled to herself, traced her fingers delicately over the bones without disturbing them and dripped a little wax over the topmost ones, staring with concentration as it hardened in long white lines.

“You’ll meet him by the water,” Rose started in a low voice, “by the water, in the rain.”

“What water?” Elisabeth asked.

“A river,” Rose said. “A river with many bridges over it, in the middle of a town. You’ll loose something…” she narrowed her eyes and blew on the bones lightly “…your umbrella…it’ll blow in the water and then, just as you’re getting drenched, there he’ll be. Offering his own umbrella.”

“When will it happen?” There was a distinctly breathless quality to Elisabeth voice now.

Rose shuffled backwards and lay down on her stomach, eyeing the bones from a different angle. They looked like the ruins of a town or all that was left of a beached whale after the vultures descended.

“There’s a shop,” she said. “A dressmakers, in the street by the water. It’s closed but it’s the middle of the day…so I’d say it’s a Sunday. A rainy Sunday in spring.”

“Spring?” Elisabeth asked. “How do you know?”

“ ‘ cause the trees are green, but you’re wearing a scarf, so it’s too cool for summer and too green for autumn or winter,” Rose explained. “D’you go to church?”

“We do.”

“I’d say you’re on the way home from church then,” Rose ventured. “You’ve a nice coat on, at any rate, nice enough for church.”

“Can you actually see me?”

“ ‘course.”

“How old do I look?”

Rose puffed up her cheeks and blew out air noisily.

“I’m no good at guessing ages,” she admitted. “But a good bit older than now. I’d say no more than twenty. You’ve earrings, little ones, the white pearls…you know the kind?”

She glanced up and just caught Elisabeth’s nod; of course she knew, her stupid older sister or older cousin or whoever the other girl was, was wearing a pair of them this very day.

“He’ll offer his umbrella and he’ll see you all the way to the door, holding it over you while he’s gettin’ drenched himself,” Rose went on.

“Is he handsome?”

“He’s tall, at any rate,” Rose said vaguely. “He’s a head on you, maybe more.”

“And his face?”

Rose sat up and held up her hands in defeat.

“I’m no good at describing faces,” she said, shrugging by way of apology. “He’s a nose, eyes and mouth and nothing’s obviously crooked…”

Elisabeth looked thoroughly disappointed.

“I wish I could see,” she said wistfully. “So I could make sure I don’t walk past him.”

“You won’t,” Rose assured her. “It’s fate, see, there’s no escaping it.”

“Just to be sure,” Elisabeth said. “And so I could look forward to it, til then.”

Rose looked down at the bones for a while, tapping her fingers together.

“You know…” she said slowly. “No…never mind.”

“What?”

It was too easy nearly.

“There’s a drink you can make, like a potion kind of,” she said. “I’ve never made it on me own but, only with my aunties. It’s not too hard, but you need the right things for it.”

“What does it do?”

“It shares the vision,” Rose said solemnly. “Only for a little moment, mind.”

“So…I could see him?”

“You could, yea.”

“Can you make it?”

“I could try, I s’pose…” Rose rubbed the back of her neck. “But you’d have to get me things to put in it…look, I’d like to, honest, but you’ll not be able to get the things I need.”

“I’d have to get things?”

“Yea,” Rose said. “It only works if the person seekin’ their fate brings the ingredients, otherwise the drink does nothing to them.”

“What things?”

“It doesn’t matter. Look-“

“Just tell me.” Elisabeth softened her tone. “Please?”

“You won’t manage.”

“I can try,” Elisabeth said urgently. “No harm in trying, is there?”

“Orright…” Rose sighed. “I’d need a bit of your hair, that’s easy enough. But then, there has to be a piece of silver, a wild mushroom, a dagger and some gin. And you’ll have to bring all of it, it won’t work if I touch it before it’s mixed.”

“Can the silver be a coin?”

“No.” Rose shook her head. “It has to be something other than money and it has to be yours, or your kin’s at the very least.”

Elisabeth stared at the bones quietly, Rose could nearly hear the wheels ticking over in her head.

“Any sort of mushroom?”

“I think so, yea.”

“If I got those things…” Elisabeth looked up “…would you try?”

“I told you, I’ve only ever done it with help,” Rose repeated.

“But you’d try?”

“If you really want me to. But I can’t promise it’ll work.”

Elisabeth got up.

“If I get everything, I’ll find you. Alright?”

Rose nodded and started to gather the chicken bones, one by one, neatly putting them back in the napkin. The second she heard the door of her room click shut, she collapsed, boneless with silent laughter; she nearly set herself on fire with the candle.

#

Her father was chasing her uncle Arthur around the stupid sculpture out the front.

Rose, who’d been on her way out to get some air and maybe catch Johnny Dogs for a chat, made herself fade into the doorway. They looked funny, skidding on the gravel in their best suits; funnier still when her uncle put his knee out and started limping and swearing. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but something had clearly gone sideways…probably the speech.

Poor uncle Arthur.

It wasn’t fair to have him make a speech; not when he was all over the place finding Jesus and trying to be someone else. Her father had written it all down for him, she knew, they’d spent an evening arguing in the office at the big house and her uncle had left looking like a schoolboy with too much homework.

Two of the Burgess lion tamers were coming in now, her father waving them past from where he was half-wrestling, half-carrying Arthur. They spotted Rose, the lion tamers, a one of them held his hand out to her.

“No need to hide, little miss,” he said. “Come and have a dance, will you?”

He was a bit pissed, they both were; but they were technically kin now and Rose, after all, had instructions not to be rude.

The big room was full of music and people and drink and shouting. The lion tamer told Rose to stand on his feet, put one of her hands on his arm, took hold of the other and started off across the dance floor with her.

Rose caught a glimpse of her aunt Polly over by a table, chatting with Grace – a sweet face on her that seemed to weigh a ton – and John and Esme whirled past a couple of times, more riding than dancing; but everyone else of their party seemed to have disappeared.

The music faded away and they called the dance for the bride and groom. Rose hopped off the boots, noting the scratches her own shoes had left on them and, still dizzy from the dance, moved over to the side with everyone else.

And then, they were dancing. Her father and Grace. Just the two of them.

And Rose suddenly wanted to cry. Or scream. Or run across the room and tip over the table with the cake on it.

Grace had her hand on the back of Tommy’s neck, they were talking as they were dancing, their mouth smiling and their eyes deadly serious. It gave Rose all manner of shivers, as though there was a thunderstorm rolling through the room, icy with wind and static with electricity.

She wanted to look away – run away, really – but there was no tearing her eyes from them.

They were oblivious to anything around them, Rose could tell, everything faded away until they were all alone, dancing to silence in a room of nothing at all. It was hard to keep reminding her that her father deserved a moment like that, no matter how much it hurt her.

It occurred to Rose that this shouldn’t hurt her, she should be happy for him.

Happy he could sleep through the night and see a baby turn into a child; that he had someone who knew how to smile in company and touch his hand when no one was looking. Someone he could talk to about terrible things while pretending to have a wedding dance, like he was doing now.

It’d have been easier to be happy, if Grace didn’t take up so much space and time.

They were kissing now, the dance coming to an end.

When they broke apart, Tommy’s eyes found Rose where she was standing in the crowd. She made herself smile and look back at him until the dancers flocked back to the floor and she couldn’t see him anymore.

#

For a long while, Rose floated from room to room and in and out of the house. It was like walking from one film to another.

Dancing in the one room, silent brooding figures drinking in the next; her uncle Finn and one of the lion tamers having a horse race out the back, a couple of very young women smoking and crying out the front; her aunt Ada sitting all alone in the drawing room, staring at the fire; her aunt Polly talking to a panther-looking fella, smiling like she was all of sixteen years old…the one person she’d not seen hide nor hair of was her father.

He’d disappeared after his dance with Grace, along with her uncle Arthur.

There were fires being lit outside; one just behind the stables and one further out in the woods. It had to be huge, the one in the forest, Rose could see it easily from the south facing upstairs windows. She felt bone-weary now, ready to curl up on the floor and sleep for a year. Her head was foggy with noise and people.

“There you are.”

Grace had appeared behind her without a sound, like she’d come through the wall or out of the floor.

“I saw you dancing before,” Grace said. “You were lovely.”

“I saw you, too…” Rose turned her head and suddenly they were looking at each other, properly, for the first time Rose could remember. “Is everything orright?”

Grace didn’t answer for many, many breaths.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” she said finally. “There’s no need for you to worry, Rosie.”

She was like two pictures cut up and stuck together, Grace; a painting of someone radiant, a goddess of the late morning, but with eyes clipped from a newspaper photograph of someone watching their house burn down.

“Where’s me da?”

“Downstairs.”

“I’ve not seen him.”

“Well, where’ve _you_ been?”

“Downstairs,” Rose said. “ _Mingling_.”

“Are you not tired yet, Rosie?”

She shrugged.

“Go to bed,” Grace said. “He’ll come in to see you when everything’s finished.”

“Will you tell him to wake me, if I’m asleep?”

“I will.”

Rose nodded and turned to go, vaguely aware of Grace’s hand squeezing her shoulder.

#

Elisabeth was sitting in the middle of Rose’s bed. She nearly gave her a heart attack.

“I’ve got it,” she announced. “I’ve got all of it.”

“What?”

“The things for the potion,” Elisabeth said impatiently.

“Oh.”

“Come on then.”

“I-“

“You said you would.”

“I know, but-“

Elisabeth was off the bed and very close to Rose very quickly.

“If you don’t keep your promise,” she said, “I’ll tell them it was you who took the watch.”

Rose couldn’t quite keep up with what the bloody hell was happening here; it was like her brain had put itself to sleep as soon as she’d decided to go to bed.

“What watch?” she asked.

“This one.” Elisabeth opened her stupid handbag and pulled out a solid silver pocket watch.

“Who’s is that?”

“My father’s,” Elisabeth said.

“They won’t believe you…”

“You know they will.”

Rose stood chewing her lip, willing her wits to return. Elisabeth had a point, of course. If she came running with the watch from Rose’s room, denouncing her, there wasn’t an adult down there – Burgess or Shelby – who would doubt she was telling the truth.

“Orright,” she said resignedly. “Put the stuff on the desk.”

There was the watch, a small knife (presumably part of the lion tamer’s outfits) and a foul looking mushroom (the kind that grew behind the sheds).

“Where’s the gin?” Rose asked.

“Here.”

Elisabeth reached under Rose’s bed and pulled out half a bottle. Rose sighed.

“Wait here,” she said.

“Why?”

“D’you want me to mix it in my boot?” Rose snapped. “I’ll need a glass, won’t I?”

She got a glass from the bathroom, the one she used to rinse her teeth after brushing. It wasn’t clean or in any way for drinking from. Perfect.

Back in her room, Rose used the small knife to peel and slice the mushroom, before passing it to Elisabeth.

“Hair,” she said.

The mushroom pieces and the hair went into the glass, that much made sense. Rose held the watch for a moment, wondering what to do with it. In the end she dangled it over the glass and poured the gin over it slowly, watching it drip off the silver casing onto the hair.

“Right,” she said. “Nearly done.”

“What else?”

“Prick your finger,” Rose instructed. “I’ll need a drop of blood.”

“What?”

“Just a tiny bit. It won’t work otherwise.”

Rose had to hand it to Elisabeth, she was really keen on seeing her one true love. Wincing and hissing, she stuck the knife into her fingertip and a small ruby dissolved into the gin. Rose opened her desk drawer, looking for a pen or something else to stir…huh.

It seemed her uncle Finn really was on his best behaviour.

Very gently, Rose took one of the small vials from the drawer, unscrewed the lid and tapped some of the white powder into the potion.

“What’s that?” Elisabeth asked.

“Ground-up swallows’ bones.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“You’re not wrong.” Rose stirred with a pencil until the powder was mostly dissolved. “Here you are.”

Elisabeth looked at the glass, second thoughts written all over her face.

“You don’t have to,” Rose said. “If you’re scared.”

You really couldn’t accuse the Burgess women of lacking nerve. Elisabeth held her nose and slammed the concoction down in one. A moment later she was coughing so violently, Rose worried she might have killed her.

“Oh, that’s terrible,” Elisabeth wheezed when she got her breath back. “What now?”

“Now we wait,” Rose said, sweat pooling at the base of her spine. “Just give it time. You’ll feel it in a bit.”

#

For a while they just sat; Elisabeth on the bed and Rose on the windowsill. They sat for such a long time Rose was starting to get quite nervous.

Elisabeth got up and started walking from one end of the room to the next. She’d done it ten times at least before Rose worked out she was balancing along the edge of the rug.

“Is it raining?”

Rose leaned her head against the window and peered upwards.

“No.”

“I can hear rain,” Elisabeth insisted. “I can, I’m telling you. Are you sure now that it’s not raining?”

Rose got up, opened the window and held out her arm.

“No rain,” she said.

“But I can hear it…” Elisabeth stopped dead and stared at Rose with eyes that seemed very black. “It’s starting, isn’t it? You said…you _said_ he’d come in the rain, I’d meet him in the rain…”

Rose’s jaw dropped slightly. Elisabeth’s grin went from delighted to a bit deranged.

“It’s working…it is. He’s coming, isn’t he?”

Suddenly Elisabeth was next to Rose and hanging halfway out of the window.

“Christ,” Rose yelped and dragged her back into the room by the back of her dress. “You’ll break your neck, be careful!”

“Will I see him from here? I won’t be able to, surely. I’ve to go downstairs…outside…I’ve to go outside, don’t I? Outside in the rain…”

“It’s not raining,” Rose repeated. “And-“

“But how will he know it’s me if I’m not drenched?”

Elisabeth was wide-eyed and pale and a bit sweaty and every bit of her seemed to be straining in a different direction.

“It’s-“

“How?” Elisabeth was shouting now, making entirely too much noise for Rose’s liking.

Outside the first guests were starting to make their departures, so there was no telling who was on their way upstairs or already in the guest rooms. It wouldn’t do to have adults coming in to see what was going on now, that wouldn’t do at all.

“What’ll I do?”

“Just…I dunno…” Rose was moving Elisabeth towards the door, “…just pour some water over your head or somethin’…”

“Oh…” Elisabeth looked at Rose in wonder. “That’s a good idea…”

Rose eased open the door and, holding Elisabeth back with a hand on her chest, craned her head to see if the coast was clear. There seemed to be no one about.

“Off you go,” she said.

“Thank you…” Elisabeth said breathlessly, stumbling a little as she exited the room. “Thanks awfully.”

“Yea, orright.” Rose was already closing the door when she remembered Elisabeth’s bag and the watch and knife. “Hang on…stop…”

She darted back into the room, stuffed the contraband into the bag and ran after Elisabeth. She caught her at the top off the stairs.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, forced the bag into Elisabeth’s arms and sprinted back to her room.

#

Rose put the glass, still containing bits of hair and mushroom, in the very back of her wardrobe and hid the gin back under her bed. She’d sneak it back downstairs tomorrow…or maybe just outside into the hallway, there were bound to be bottles all over the house in the morning.

There was a scent of roasting meet travelling through her open bedroom window. Maybe they were grilling out by the big fire in the woods, Johnny Dogs and them, having a second wedding feast of their own. Rose was tempted to go and watch the fire, Johnny Dogs’d be pleased and probably feed her; but she was too tired. She kicked off her shoes and fell backwards on the bed, the ribbons of her underskirt wrapping around her like tentacles.

“I’m here!”

Rose sat bolt upright and flew over to the window. Down on the drive, dripping wet, stood Elisabeth, her arms wide and raised to the heavens.

“I’m waiting,” Elisabeth yelled. “I’m here!”

There were raised voices from somewhere Rose could not see and a moment later a couple of Burgess women and one very irate lion tamer came charging into view, surrounding Elisabeth. Rose couldn’t hear what they were saying, they weren’t shouting at Elisabeth, but these were not necessarily a shouting people. One of the women, presumably Elisabeth’s mother, had her by the arm, her face close to Elisabeth’s ear, hissing promises of hideous retribution by the looks of it. Elisabeth stepped back and replied something – something really unwise apparently – and the lion tamer stepped in and smacked her so hard she nearly fell over.

“I’m here,” Elisabeth shouted again, even though the women were pulling her off towards the cars now, followed by the lion tamer. “Hurry! I’m here! I’m here now!”

They wrestled Elisabeth into the car and slammed the door.

Rose stood by her window, watching them rumble off, stunned.

She’d always been led to believe that tricking people was hard, that it took skill and brains aplenty and much practice. It’d never occurred to her that all it took was nerve. Rose took off her dress and went to bed in the shreds of her petticoat, falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

#

“Rosie…”

Her father was sitting on the edge of her bed, blurred by the sleep in her heavy eyes.

“Orright?” she asked groggily.

“Yea,” he said with a tired smile. “Grace said to wake you.”

“Oh…that’s right…” Rose forced her eyes open.

“Why’d you want me to wake you?”

“I saw you dancing and I got scared.”

“You got scared of us dancing?”

“No…I dunno…” Rose lifted her head a bit and propped it up on her arm. “You were talkin’ about scary things, weren’t you?”

“Ah, Rosie.” Tommy’s hand was in her hair now, moving her head back onto the pillow and scratching her gently. “You’ve nothing to be scared off. We were only dancing.”

“D’you promise?”

Although her eyes were closing again on their own accord, Rose could see her father’s eyes darkening, a bit like Elisabeth’s earlier.

“Go back to sleep, my little love,” he said. “Everything’s orright.”

“Did you have a nice weddin’ day?” Rose murmured.

Sleep was just a heartbeat away now, but she could still hear Tommy laugh hoarsely.

“Lovely, Rosie,” he said with a faraway voice. “Nice of you to ask.”  



End file.
